


Finally

by sherjohkalakuh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherjohkalakuh/pseuds/sherjohkalakuh
Summary: Once John had finished eating, he set their empty boxes aside on the floor next to the couch and rested his left arm around the back of the couch, touching Sherlock’s shoulders just slightly. Sherlock felt a chill race down his spine at the contact. Suddenly, John looked over to Sherlock and sighed. “What?” Sherlock questioned, keeping his stare at the screen in front of them to avoid eye contact. He could feel the heat of blush spread across his pale cheeks. “I’ve something to tell you.” John explained. His eyebrows were raised as he waited for Sherlock to look at him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm sorry I've been inactive for so long! I hope this helps you to forgive me. I had time to write tonight and came up with a short story here. Enjoy! Please leave a comment and a kudos if you liked it~

Sherlock laid his slender, cold frame on the cozy couch in the quiet livingroom of his flat. The current case occupied his thoughts as he breathed in and out through his nose, slow and silent. John was out buying more tea and milk. Tedious.  
The restless detective thought of ways to approach the suspect of the current case: Male, mid thirties, and somewhat dangerous. The victim was female, mid twenties, and deceased. Signs of sexual assault, fatal blows to the head, and bruising around the throat suggesting choking.

 

Sigh.

 

In one swift motion, Sherlock stood from the couch and kept his fingertips under the tip of his nose. Nonchalantly, he stepped into the small kitchen and opened the wall cabinet for a ceramic cup to fill with the last bit of tea they had left. John had asked him to save it for him, which made no sense since he was out fetching more. 

 

"Absolutely preposterous, John." He said out loud, coincidentally at the same time the doctor was just coming back into the flat. Both of his tanned hands were occupied with Tesco’s plastic grocery bags. Earl Grey tea, two jugs of whole milk, and a carton of eggs. What was he going to need eggs for? It wasn’t as if he ate them for breakfast. John usually just went for toast, which he forgot to buy. 

 

John groaned and sighed at the moment he set the plastic bags on the counter next to Sherlock. He was tired: poor posture and prominent bags under his eyes proved that he had another rough night with the PTSD. 

 

“Evening.” He said to Sherlock, which the detective replied with simple and quick eye contact. What John said next caught him by surprise.

 

“Let’s just relax tonight, yeah? I’ll order Thai and we can watch the telly.”

 

Sherlock was leaning his back against the counter, causing his deeply violet coloured button-up shirt to nearly pop the buttons from the tight tension in the fabric. It seemingly got more and more tight as the weeks went by; Sherlock had been doing pushups and other various forms of working out on the floor of his bedroom at night when he couldn’t stop the thoughts of pursuing effective ways of solving cases.  
Sherlock’s strained eyes were blinking and his brow furrowed at the confusion. John usually and simply had a wank in the shower before going to sleep every other evening.

 

“Sounds tedious, John.” Sherlock commented while finishing the preparation of his cuppa. He looked over John, seeing obvious signs of his lack of energy and sexual loneliness. Perhaps he was reaching out to Sherlock for some sort of comfort. 

 

“We’ve been so busy lately, I figured it’d be nice to have a night in. Spare me, Sherlock. I figured you of all people would understand boredom.” John defended himself and put away the milk in the fridge, not even flinching at the sight of the jar of frozen, cut out eyes. 

 

Sherlock smirked and chuckled lightly. “This is for the opposite of boredom, John. You’re tired.”

 

“Yes, I’m very tired, alright? I’m tired and would very much enjoy a domestic evening. Is that too much to ask for, especially considering how much I’ve helped you on this bloody case?” John hissed. His jaw stuck out, defining its line. The frustration in his tone of voice became very obvious, very quickly.

 

“Fine.” Sherlock grunted and made his way back onto the couch, cuppa in hand. The warm ceramic in his long fingers was comforting and sent the skin on his arms into a frenzy of goosebumps. He sat with his knees to his chest and held his cup close to his face. Normally, he’d sit properly, but he had gotten so comfortable with John that he simply did not care at that point. 

 

“Good.” John sighed. He finished putting the eggs and tea away before making himself a cup of Earl Grey. Once his tea had also been prepared, he phoned their favorite Thai restaurant and expected the food to arrive in approximately twenty minutes. 

 

“So, what shall we watch then?” John asked, sitting himself down next to the tall and awkwardly positioned detective. He spread the nearest throw blanket on top of his denim covered lap and grabbed the remote to turn on the telly. The first channel to come on was the local news station, but John ignored it as he looked over to Sherlock and awaited his response.

 

“John, you know I don’t care.” Sherlock said with a hint of sass. 

 

He sighed and shook his head slightly, switching the channel over to a feature film of the classic James Bond. It was what he went for when he had no idea of what to put on.

 

“Are you a bit cold? You’re shaking.” John asked, offering to share the blanket.

 

“I’m fine, John.” Sherlock had insisted. He was seemingly ignored, though, as John presumed to push down Sherlock’s knees to place half of the blanket over his lap. He had to scoot closer to Sherlock for them to share the blanket equally.  
Sherlock did not mind.

 

Both John and Sherlock sat quietly watching the film for fifteen minutes before Mrs. Hudson arrived, giving them their dinner. John stood to greet her and thank her, telling her that she didn’t need to do that. She insisted it was no problem before making her back downstairs to her room for the evening.  
Sherlock watched both of them interact and thought to himself, 

 

“I wish I could be ordinary like them.”

 

That thought was quickly pushed away as John sat back down next to Sherlock. The doctor’s tender hand brushed up against the thin, black fabric of Sherlock’s trousers as he pulled the blanket back over them. Then, there they both sat quietly, watching telly together as John ate and Sherlock picked at his portion specifically. Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about how their thighs were touching. It was uncomfortably comfortable and made his skin crawl with tension. Of course, Sherlock knew that he was attracted to John from the beginning, but eventually the simple attraction formed into truly unavoidable feelings for the blond. It was frustrating and completely unnecessary, yet, Sherlock found himself not wanting the feelings to go away. John was safe and made Sherlock feel anxious altogether.

 

Once John had finished eating, he set their empty boxes aside on the floor next to the couch and rested his left arm around the back of the couch, touching Sherlock’s shoulders just slightly. Sherlock felt a chill race down his spine at the contact. Suddenly, John looked over to Sherlock and sighed. 

 

“What?” Sherlock questioned, keeping his stare at the screen in front of them to avoid eye contact. He could feel the heat of blush spread across his pale cheeks. 

 

“I’ve something to tell you.” John explained. His eyebrows were raised as he waited for Sherlock to look at him. 

 

After a moment passed, Sherlock reluctantly glanced over toward the doctor, awkwardly making eye contact. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock felt vulnerable. 

 

John sighed, again, and licked his lips. Whatever was on his mind, it seemed important. Possibly even dire that Sherlock knew. 

 

“I, erm,” John stammered before bringing his arm back in and repositioned so that his torso was facing Sherlock.  
“Sarah and I had a talk today at the clinic, and she told me that I need to let myself be vulnerable, even if just for a moment, and I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while now, I’ve just been too scared to tell you.”

 

Are you moving out? Are you fed up with me, John? Do you not want me anymore?

 

“I love you.” John breathed, his heart pumping fiercely and mercilessly.

 

After a long moment of silence, Sherlock blinked, and replied, “Oh.”

 

“Oh? I tell you that I love you and you say, ‘oh’?” John said, becoming irritable.

 

“John, I-” Sherlock muttered only to be quickly interrupted.

 

“You what, Sherlock? What?!” He growled, his eyes reddening and quickly becoming uncomfortable. He was seemingly beginning to regret saying it.

 

Sherlock didn’t know what to do other than kiss him.  
It was a knee-jerk reaction; it was sudden and completely out of character, but he could not stop himself. The man Sherlock had been in love with for a very long time had just said that he loved him.  
Their lips crashed together like salty waves hitting the sandy beach. John’s stubble tickled Sherlock’s cupid’s bow as they continued to go back and forth against each other, unable to separate. Sherlock’s pulse was going too fast to count, and John’s chest hurt from the pounding of his heart. Neither of them realized how starving they were of each other until they had gotten a taste.  
Eventually John’s hand came up to hold Sherlock’s cheek, and he pulled himself closer to the detective for more personal intimacy. Their kissing was urgent, and the want for the other was building up, coming close to the climax of borderline snogging. It was several minutes before John pulled away to catch his breath. The sight of Sherlock breathing heavy with crimson slapped across his face and ears was the sight he had dreamed of seeing for too long now. 

 

“John, I-” Sherlock began again, only to be rudely interrupted for the second time.

 

“No, Sherlock, I know, you’re married to your work, I understand.” John said sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

 

“You really must stop interrupting me, John.” Sherlock glared before continuing.  
“I love you, too.” He said after an awkward moment of jagged breathing. Suddenly the air around them was hot and humid, and the thought of taking off clothing only made it even more so. Their eye contact held tension, nearly distracting the both of them from their apparent erections in their pants. 

 

“Come here, you git.” John grinned, pulling Sherlock back in by the fabric of his shirt collar. 

 

The second kiss was slower, sweeter, and more tender despite the facial hair coming in on John’s face. It was passionately slow and breathtakingly romantic. Soon, John found his trembling fingers in the black curls of Sherlock’s hair, which eventually led to him pushing Sherlock back onto the couch. John was now on top of him, kissing more erratically and wanting again. His groin didn’t quite meet with Sherlock’s, as he was taller and their lips were tied to each other. Sherlock was shaking nervously as John held his face and hinted his tongue at the other’s mouth. Sherlock complied, opening his lips slowly to meet John’s hot and wet tongue with his own. It was almost too much for the detective, as he hadn’t kissed anyone in a very long time and his heart nearly gave into palpitations.  
John pulled away and looked into Sherlock’s bright grey eyes.

 

“Are you alright? Should I stop?” He asked, concern painted onto his expression. 

 

“No, I’m, I’m fine. Just new to this is all.” Sherlock confessed, closing his eyes and lifting his hips up slightly at an attempt to relieve the tension in his crotch. It barely brushed up against John’s thigh, which produced a small hiss from the consulting detective.

 

“Ah, I see.” John chuckled. He climbed off of Sherlock and held out his hand for him to grab.  
“Let’s go to my room then?” John offered, and Sherlock grinned at the thought.  
Sherlock’s knees buckled, only for a short moment, as he stood off of the couch. He held John’s hand for a moment before picking him up.

 

“Oi!” John protested, wrapping his hands around Sherlock’s neck for support. He giggled as Sherlock carried him off into the bedroom.  
“Fantastic.” John chuckled as he was set down on top of the dark brown bedding. The blond doctor was surprised to see Sherlock climb on top of him, smiling and going down to kiss him again. Sherlock’s tongue twirled with John’s, discovering techniques to make John squirm against his frame. He was a fast learner, after all. 

 

John fumbled at Sherlock’s buttons and quickly brushed the shirt off of the detective’s shoulders to reveal his toned chest and prominent collarbones. Working out during his thinking had paid off. 

 

“Ah, fuck.” John groaned as Sherlock kissed the side of his hot neck, pulling his hips into his with his hands. Their bulges met with electric fire and sent their nerves off into oblivion. It was true, pure, bliss.  
Sherlock urgently ripped away John’s sweater and cast it away onto the floor of the bedroom before kissing bare skin tenderly. He bit John’s chest, leaving a little bruise and making John giggle again. 

 

“The things you do to me, Sherlock,” John breathed heavily. He slid Sherlock’s button up shirt off of his shoulders and sat up, Sherlock straddling him. John returned the favor by leaving a small hickey on Sherlock’s breast, which seemingly paralyzed him with pleasure. Sherlock pushed his hips up against John’s and rubbed their erections together for some sort of release in tension. John pushed him off and unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers, taking them off to reveal his black pants which contrasted against his milk, smooth skin. Eventually John was in just his pants as well, but both articles of clothing were quickly shed. Both John and Sherlock climbed under the sheets to tangle up together, snogging with hot skin against hot skin. Soon both reached climax and were laying together in a humid, sticky mess, filled with laughter and closeness.

 

“I love you.” John said, breathing heavy with closed eyes against Sherlock’s chest.

 

“I love you, too.” Sherlock replied, smiling and unable to stop.

 

Finally, both men were together, and finally, both men were truly happy.


End file.
